Page 145 of Carousel

“Sorry.”

I step backwards, aware that although the other officers are focusing on the window again, I have Meg’s full attention. She clearly hasn’t bought my rambling one bit. But she hasn’t said anything. Yet.

And I can’t not respond to my mother.

Subtly, as if scratching an itch, I turn the dial on the side of my band. Cough lightly, as if clearing my throat.

Mother’s reply, in my ears, is full of relief. “Thank the Sisters. Don’t speak or draw attention to yourself. You were scoped by a pilot. I had to take the risk.” She breathes heavily down the frequency. “Listen to me. Pass the tests they have for you. Do whatever you have to do – the Queen will forgive you. Do not do anything that will get you killed. The end is in sight, Darling.”

Tests?

Does she mean Integration? How would she even know about that?

I keep listening, desperate to hear her voice again.

But I hear only static.

It’s the loneliest sound in the world.

“Cosmos,” someone says, pulling me back to the room. Another officer gasps. I can hear the clamours from pilots ringing out from the radio band Dezeeves is wearing.

“We’re dead men,” Samson chokes.

I look up. And see it.

Out on the horizon, another wave of Rhavnan ships is approaching, their lights flashing through the dark. Dezeeves’ rounded eyes are like the reflective plates in our cabins. The oncoming lights are mirrored in them.

Ephraine shouts, “Discharge the weapon, Dezeeves. That’s all we can do.”

“The weapon isn’t ready,” he barks.

Meg turns to Ephraine, handing him her own radio band. “Take over, Ephraine. Get on the pilot frequency and tell them we’re abandoning ship and to start Evacuation.”

Ephraine yanks on the band and speaks into it. “Distress. All to emergency stations to await crew pick-up. Evacuation commencing. Distress. All to⁠—”

My radio band is crackling, as if a message is about to come through.

“Everyone, stop for a second,” I yell.

My mother’s voice comes through, clear as a bell. It must be flooding every frequency, because I hear it through Dezeeves’ band, too.

“A message from Mother. Forgive me for ringing the bell. But dinner was getting cold.”

“Means nothing to me,” Meg says. “Anyone else?”

“Are they turning away?” Samson asks.

I look back at the wave.

It’s true. The formation is going wide, wheeling in the air like a flock of gulls. The ships guarding Deck 1 are also lifting up and away.

Some of the Hevallan ships take advantage of the situation, firing at the retreating ships.

Dezeeves roars into his band, “Hold your fire!”

The ships sail away, becoming spatters of light in the distance. Like they’re nothing but more stars.

I’m still in The Bridge, now on the other side of the room, watching through the window as the engineers tackle the fire on the hull.